Unsuited
by littlexkiller
Summary: Clara has a flashback of being Rory's deathbed nurse in Manhattan, and he tells her to find Cal Aima. Post TNOTD, she and the Doctor find time to address his request, but Cal really isn't what they expected. Featuring my O/C Calamity Aima, the girl born into a dark, hedonistic world. This is how the Doctor changes her, and how she changes him. Strong T, first of To Love Or Leave.
1. Flashing Lights & Too Many Sounds

**_A/N: This fic opens with a flashback to 'The Cold War', will then become post-Trenzalore._**

* * *

_North Pole, 1983_

* * *

Clara's POV

I lost my footing on the slippery metal flooring of the submarine, and my breath was abruptly stolen from my mouth by icy, numbing water. I sank further, deeper, and my blurred vision started to darken at the edges. I was tired, so tired, and started to close my eyes as I felt many hands gripping me, pulling me from my chilled aqueous prison. After eternity passed, I could faintly feel warm air on my skin, but it left me too tired to heave in that critical gasp of air I needed, and I fell into the impending darkness.

_"Are you sure you don't want anything, sir? I don't expect you will have much longer," I told him warily, and he smiled up at me. His wife Amy stood across the hospital bed from me, and we shared a look of understanding. _

_A loud grating noise sounded behind me, and I ducked out of instinct, using my body to protect them both. The source of the noise was a flashing blue box, here one second, gone the next. It seemed to stabilise and a curiously dressed young man with quite a dapper bowtie and a rather – prominent – chin stepped out of it, and rushed to my patient Rory's side. "Sir, you can't-" I started, but the man had already grabbed Rory's hand and was holding it like he would never let go. I didn't know what to do, I wasn't trained for that kind of situation. Whatever the man was saying, Rory spent a good deal of the conversation staring at me, and I couldn't help but stare back. It was undoubtedly the strangest encounter I'd had working as a nurse in Manhattan's busiest hospital. _

_The man seemed to have finished speaking, and strutted his way over to his big blue police box, just stopping to wave before disappearing into thin air in the same way as before; only in reverse. I looked back at Rory in utter perplexity, and he just smiled in that knowing way of I'd come to be so familiar with in those last months. He beckoned me back to his bedside, and I followed the gesture expectantly. The last words he said, he said to me, and he whispered them to Amy so she could repeat it at an appropriate volume. Her eyes widened, and she watched me with wide eyes._

_"He said to... please find Cal Aima."_

_I felt Amy's hands on my shoulders, shaking me, but they were far too large and manly to be hers..._

I awoke with a sharp inhale of sweet, clean air, immediately aware that there was cold water dripping from my flyaway hairs. The Doctor's hands were still on my shoulders and his eyes searched mine. I nodded at him dumbly in acknowledgement of my consciousness, and he sat back to exhale in relief. The world was a spinning disco ball of flashing lights and too many sounds; all I wanted was to go back to sleep, but I couldn't. The Doctor needed me_._


	2. It's So Nice To Finally Meet You

**_A/N: Thank you for all the kind responses! Here's Chapter 2, very post-Trenzalore and post-Trenzalore recovery. Clara knows who the man in the box was (the Doctor obv) and they're tracking down Cal. Also this fic will be entirely in past tense, as if Clara was relaying the story for you. Will open chapters with a setting and time; later a POV as well. We're in third person for now. For the sake of this story, I've changed Clara a little. We all know what Trenzalore was like for her - my GOD there are so many post-Trenzalore fics out there – it left her much, much older inside, a good deal more suspicious, and as sassy as ever. Enjoy! Thank you themadmanhopes, RandomVictorian, thecrimevortex and everyone else for the messages, ideas and support._**

* * *

_The TARDIS_

"Where is she then? _Cal Aima_," Clara asked the Doctor, testing out the name on her tongue. He took a casual sip from his chipped porcelain mug of hot tea and shrugged.

"It's got to be short for something..."

He didn't reply, only gave her a peaceful smile, and she quirked an eyebrow. "What's gotten you so chilled out?" she demanded with a smirk, and he kept on grinning. "Well," he began, "we're alive and safe for one."

Clara fought to keep her face straight. 'Alive and safe' was a legitimate achievement for him.

"And we've not received any distress calls," he added with a note of pride. "That's all _your _wonderful work, is it?" she quipped amusedly. He nudged her in the ribs playfully. "Maybe a little bit of yours too," he told her, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. She smiled at the contact and moved to the general information archives monitor.

"There she is!" Clara cried, tapping her finger to the screen excitedly. The Doctor nearly spilled his tea running over to her side of the console.

* * *

_3 results for your search 'Cal Aima'_

_You have applied the 'Ignore Preferred Name' filter. Results displayed below show generated full names with greatest relevance to the searched keywords. _

_You have applied the 'Notable Activity' filter. Results displayed below show when and where the creature/person in question has done or been involved in something of repute._

**_1. Calamity Aima, Clemency, Hedonia, Aima Galaxy, Subsection 4, Inner Universe, May 26_****_th_****_, 2013 _**

**_2. Calamity Aima, London, England, Earth, Solar Galaxy, Subsection 4, Inner Universe, December 25_****_th_****_, 1892_**

**_3. Calamity Aima, The Royal High Dalek Asylum, Dalek Asylum, Subsection 23, Outer Universe, January 5_****_th_****_, 3010_**

_Tap screen here for more results..._

* * *

"Don't tell me," she began sassily, "she jumped into your timeline too. Or she's another time travelling alien. Or both." The Doctor tried to laugh, but his eyes were glued to her name, not her locations. Clara noticed.

"Calamity..." whispered the Doctor. He sounded like he was going to cry. "Why? _Why _would you name your child something so horrible, so specific and _horrible_? Condemning them to a life of an outcast... It's the worst life you can give to _anyone_."

Clara took his hand by way of soothing him. If she remembered right, he definitely knew what being an outsider was like.

"It could mean something different over there-"

"They speak _English_," he spat, the bitter tones knifing the air between them.

Clara retreated her hand hastily. He really was taking this poor girl's fate to heart, wasn't he?

"Yeah well... We can be there to cheer her up, surely? Maybe she's happy with her name. Maybe that's a cool thing over there! You know, like all those emo bands I listened to in my teen years that I was telling you about the other day. Everyone's probably got a name like Dark Flames or Agony Guts, something crazy like that. Maybe it's just one of those planets."

He couldn't help but smile. The Hedonia he remembered was nothing like that.

"Everyone has the same surname there. Aima. The Greek word for 'blood'. After the galaxy they're in. Relations are determined by DNA testing at birth; your blood information gets stored up in this massive information bubble, and it draws out possible matches. From there the natives can usually decide who's a cousin and who's just a mate," he explained. "They're a fairly advanced species – compared to humans, anyway," he added after she raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"So..." the Doctor began in his best mysterious-old-man voice, "which Cal do you want to meet?"

Clara pondered this for a moment. A time jumper; of _course_. Trust the Ponds to send them on one last goose chase through time and space. She pursed her lips in thought briefly, then tapped number 1. The TARDIS began to groan and shake as they shot off through the time vortex.

They clung to the console with identical grins. "So why'd you pick that one?" the Doctor asked loudly over the machinery. She shrugged in reply. "It was the same subsection as Earth – that makes it like a parallel universe or something, yeah?!" she yelled back to him. He shook his head with considerable effort; the TARDIS was just crossing the gap between the Solar and Aima galaxies, and didn't they all know it. "No," he began loudly, as the TARDIS began to slow down, "we're only crossing galaxies, same universe. But you're right, it is parallel. Except Hedonia is only the size of..." He trailed off, trying to find a good area to compare with that she would understand. The TARDIS landed with an audible thud, flashing on and off the planet until it finally materialised in full. "About the size of Australia," explained the Doctor cheerfully as he threw open the big blue doors.

"Welcome to Hedonia! The planet of bountiful wealth, excellent hygiene and kind-hearted inhabitants!" he cried, and they were immediately pelted in a shower of small, sharp stones. Mocking laughs came out from all around them, and the Doctor scratched his head in confusion. The street before them was spotless and smooth, as were the walls of the buildings – it was like a fairy tale, and the people's behaviour seemed strangely uncouth for such a lovely environment. The city's "Who do ya think ya are?" a gruff bearded man sneered at them in a heavy Chicago accent. "This ain't no tourist planet! Go back to where you came from, and off with the lady and your little box. Before they both get _taken_." The Doctor frowned at the emphasis on the last word, not sure if the man meant it as a threat. "What do you mean _taken_? This planet is a civil-" He was cut off by the man rolling his eyes and laughing almost manically. "You're not from 'round here, clearly. Well, I might as well tell ya. Hedonia's definitely peaceful, ain't no wars or anythin' like that – but the people... The _people _are absolutely _feral_. Folks around here don't care who they gotta stab in the back to get the upper hand." He finished with a derisive snort. "Especially if it involves money," he added with a dark note in his voice. Clara bit her lip. _Why would Rory associate with people like this? He was definitely a peaceful old man when I knew him. And the Doctor wouldn't associate with people who associated with __**those **__kinds of people, _she pondered to herself. "Excuse me – sir," Clara began, "do you know anyone by the name of Calamity Aima?" The man's eyes lit up in recognition. " 'Course I do! Who doesn't?" he told them. "My wife loves her makeup shows," he added somewhat enthusiastically. "So she's a famous makeup artist then?" Clara asked curiously. The man nodded vigorously, and leaned down to whisper in her ear. "She's a very pretty little thing. Looks just like you, come to think of it."

He leaned back to a reasonable distance. "You another relative of hers? She 'bout the same age you are, I think. Unless you got them fillers for your face. She about 24 now, very successful," he told her with an unexpected glow in his eyes. "Oh – she's my niece," he added hurriedly at the Doctor's worried expression. "I'm not a sasaeng if that's what you're worried about. Heck no, lady. Anyway, she's just come back from recording, probably in the shower. But you two can come over and wait for her I guess. Come on then," he said, leading them down a couple of small streets to where her house lay among the metropolitan sprawl.

"Wait," the Doctor told Clara quietly as he scanned the entrance into the large white-and-gold double story home. Three soft beeps were emitted from his sonic, and she smiled like she knew what that meant. The Doctor froze to the spot. "Excuse me, mister..." he began, and the man nodded.

"Ah, yes. The names Neil. Neil Broadwin. Nice to meet ya."

"I'm the Doctor, and this is Clara. I'm a Time Lord, she is one very impossible human – or at least _technically _– and we travel throughout time and space together. How about that for an intro?"

The Doctor shook Neil's hand vigorously and Clara smiled, but continued to stare at the Doctor. He was getting _way _too into big entrances. It had been that way ever since they had agreed not to introduce themselves, by their real names at least, to anyone until they were deemed trustworthy. The distraction was temporary however, and he proceeded to scan the house again. Another three beeps and the Doctor smacked the small device. A sound almost like a whine of protest, and another three, slightly louder beeps.

He walked briskly into the modern, frighteningly sterile house, Clara running to keep up with his long strides. They could hear the shower running from across the enormous hall. "What is it, Doctor?" she whispered.

"Why are you whispering? Anyway, I just scanned the house for life signs, and... I got three, Clara. Three. Not four. Three!" he squeaked.

"Doctor, are you scared? Should I be scared?" asked Clara quietly. There was none of her usual teasing tone in her voice. It was a genuine question.

"I... I think it's a trap, Clara," he whispered back to her, and took her hand firmly. She squeezed back in response. "I always thought he was a shady fellow," she agreed. They both turned simultaneously to Neil, who was just grinding coffee beans. "Coffee, anyone?" the bearded man asked kindly, and Clara's grip on the Doctor's hand tightened as they both answered in unison, "No thanks."

"Do you think he's done something to that coffee?" she asked the Doctor quietly, but it was mostly rhetorical. "Cough," he told her. She jerked backwards in confusion. "Just _cough_," he sighed, "cough pretty loud for about five seconds, I need to check it. It's important, Clara. We need to figure out how long we can stay here and if this man is reliable. Cough."

She inhaled deeply, and let out a series of hacking, phlegm-filled coughs that would've made a veteran smoker cringe. The Doctor quickly buzzed the sonic as casually as he could at the coffee machine, and he tapped her shoulder so she knew to stop coughing. "Nothing wrong with it," he told her with a smile.

The shower stopped, and the Doctor practically ran to knock on the bathroom door. Clara swatted his shoulder. "Give her some time! She's a lady, and a makeup artist at that. After she towels off, she got to get dressed, dry her hair, exfoliate, cleanse, tone, moisturise, apply serum-"

The door was ripped open promptly by a tiny woman with long, luscious black hair and deep sapphire eyes in a hastily tied bathrobe. The Doctor instinctually covered his eyes with a hand and offered the other to greet her. "HiI'mtheDoctorsorryaboutthisummRorysentmeandClara tofindyouandI'msorryyoucancontinueonwithwhateveryo uweredoing." Cal laughed at his anxious manner and shook his hands. "Calamity Aima, but I'm sure you knew that if Rory sent you. He was always so... thorough," she said somewhat cryptically, and the two time travellers shared a look. "Clara, it's so nice to _finally_ meet you," Cal added brightly, but Clara didn't reciprocate the warmth. "Finally?" asked Clara with a somewhat cold smile. Cal nodded. "Sorry," she explained, "Females are telepathic on Hedonia, and all your Time Lord Doctor over here has been thinking about is how pretty you are for the past minute and a half. Precious, since he just met me." She winked cheekily to indicate the joke, and the Doctor laughed awkwardly, removing his hand from his eyes.

"Anyway, you should probably get dressed-"

"I probably should, yeah. Nice to meet you both."

The door clicked shut rather abruptly. "Is it just me," Clara began, "or is she a bit-"

"Strange? Definitely."


	3. Why She Hates Birthdays

**_A/N: Thank you for your kind words on the last chapter. This chapter we discover that Calamity is a very multi-dimensional character, and that first impressions mean nothing. Language warning, because Neil isn't who you think he is either. I'd warn you of the other thing but that would spoil the story, so if you are under the age of 13, I would advise you stop reading _****_now_****_. Remember what I said about Hedonia being a hedonistic planet? Also this story assumes that the Doctor has telepathic abilities on a basic level with no contact required as prerequisite._**

**_This chapter can be read alongside the poem in Chapter 20 - Blue and Grey in my poetry series A Thousand Candles, They Burn At Both Ends_**

* * *

_Clemency, Hedonia, 26__th __of May, 1993_

"Cal!" Neil screamed drunkenly through the house. "_Cal_! Where are you, you little bitch! Come here. Come to Uncle Neil. Now!"

She leapt up from her play area, slammed her door and locked it, breathing as hard as any four-year-old Hedonian could. "Please," she whispered to no one in particular, "please, please no. No uncle, please don't... Not me! Please not me..."

The begging was pointless as he effortlessly beat down her door, and she burst into tears. "_Please _Uncle!" young Calamity screamed, blinded by her own tears. She fell to her knees, and he yanked her up roughly by the collar of her new red dress. "Such a waste. So pretty, but so... _disobedient_. Your sister was a lot better you know," he slurred roughly, and Cal tried as hard as she could not to cough as the effect of four bottles of whiskey hit her tender nose. He grinned darkly, and started to kiss her neck in a very, _very_ wrong way.

It was the worst birthday she'd ever had.

* * *

_Clemency, Hedonia, 26__th__ of May, 2005_

"Happy birthday dear!" Lucia cried, pecking her daughter on the cheek. "You're sixteen already! My little girl, sweet, _sweet _sixteen. What do you want?" Cal looked up from her laptop with an emotionless expression. Her face had been emotionless for years by this point in time. "I want to get out of here," she told her mother, slowly and clearly, with an air of determination. "I want to go somewhere far away and live a better life."

Tears spilled from her mother's cheeks as she nodded and took Cal's hands from across the spotless glass table. Her efforts to be cheerful this year failed, her facade falling with the uncontrollable wave of tears which fell from her eyes, so naturally, like raindrops from clouds – but with a good deal more melancholy.

"I... I wish I could've..."

Lucia's voice cracked so hard she couldn't finish, and instead she ran her slim, bony fingers over the hundreds of pink-brown scars that manifested themselves like disease onto her daughter's forearms. "I know, Mom," Cal sighed. "Don't blame yourself. Never blame yourself. You weren't home for a few hours and..."

She didn't have to finish. "Alright," Lucia said, sniffing up her tears, "where do you want to go?" Cal smiled at her mother for the first time in twelve years.

"I want to go to Earth. I want to study medicine and blend in with the humans. I want to grow up, Mom. I want to be great."

Lucia chuckled. "Of course you do. Who am I to suppress your greatness? Well, I guess we'll have to find you a plane ticket."

They both grinned.

* * *

_London, England, 26__th__ of May, 2009 _

"Hey Cal!" Rory called enthusiastically from across the hall. Cal immediately turned and half-bolted for the doors, but his footballing days counted for something and he caught her thin wrist before she got there. "Whoa, Flash," he joked weakly, "something wrong? It's your birthday! You're twenty – officially an adult! What could be wrong?"

She knew he was being a good friend, but she turned and ran anyway. She ran halfway across campus to her dorm and collapsed onto her bed, not even bothering to shut the door. Rory ran after her, tripped on the doorstep and stumbled his way to her side. "Go away, Rory. Go find Amy," she told him, holding the tears off as best she could. If there was one day of the year she should be allowed time and space to cry, it should be today. She could almost see his brows pulling together like magnets in a frown. "I will most certainly not _think_ of Amy until you tell me what happened," he said sternly. That was when the crying started.

"My _God _Cal, I had no idea..." he breathed, running his hand through her long, shiny black hair over and over again.

"And where's Hedonia? Never seen it on the map. Is it a small town? There's lots of those in Greece, right?"

She stifled a smile by burying her face in the pillow. _Humans_, she thought drily. _They still don't know yet._

* * *

Rory remembered her story until his dying day. He didn't even tell Amy what had happened to her on her fourth birthday. He still didn't know where Hedonia was. But he did know that after they graduated together, that she went back there, wherever it was. And that she was too beautiful to be so sad. He'd loved her; she was his best friend through hard patches with Amy, through frightening grades, through not being invited to drink with his peers (only when she was too busy to go herself).

She'd developed a personality disorder through their last year studying together, one day she'd be sassy and confident, and _God _so attractive – the next day she'd cry for hours and push them all away. Amy made her get a counsellor, but it wasn't enough, when during the winter holidays she tried to stab herself. An ambulance came to take her to their mattress room for surveillance, and the Ponds always remembered having to watch her sit there, ripping her hair out and clawing at her own face. Trying desperately to harm herself as much as possible – until she stopped. She laid down and stopped moving. They watched as she was carried to a bed, hooked to an IV and sedated. They watched her wake up, they watched her scream, they watched her cry, they watched her act like she was fine when of course she wasn't. They sat in the waiting rooms through her psychiatric assessments, they soothed her when she was diagnosed, they held her hands when she took her first antidepressant. They watched the bubbly, outgoing woman they knew become expressionless and brick-like again.

The scars on her arms had faded greatly, but the scars on her heart were still fresh. Rory always wondered why the worst things happen to the most beautiful of people.

But they also watched her take her last antidepressant. They sat with her through her last psychiatric consultation. They got to see her sass return, and her confidence peek from within when she wore red.

When he met the Doctor, he wanted her to have that too. The help, the laughs, the fish custard. She deserved it. She deserved to be happy.

The same couldn't be said for Neil, who grew old and bitter, never addressing what he'd done to Cal's family.

Amy and Rory grew old together, River visiting when she could, for a while at least. Amy got carpal tunnels from writing and Rory grew slowly blind from all the years of intricate operations. They died happy together, Amy leaving for above two days after him. Clara brought them both to the morgue; kept them company as their souls treasure-hunted for the light.

After the Great War of Aima, the King Hedonus decreed his scientists inject every humanoid inhabitant on the planet with regenerative DNA so as not to lose so many people to the fighting. Hedonians' cells started to learn to regenerate at the age of around 20~21, rendering them somewhat immortal for the rest of that time. In that way, they are alike with Gallifreyans – but they keep their physical appearance.

Cal heard of the death of the Ponds, and mourned for a month. She stopped work, stopped eating, but she couldn't cry anymore. The tears had dried up inside her a while ago. She grew numb and afraid and very, very bitter. She started to believe all the good people in the universe died too soon, but that theory would have made her evil, and she couldn't handle thinking she was evil. So she remembered her days with Rory, and she stepped out of mourning into the bright double sunlight of Hedonia. Cal went back to work, went back to the fame and false admiration; went back to pretending to be okay. And as long as she could pretend, a little part of her really did feel okay.

* * *

_Calamity's House, Clemency, Hedonia, 26__th__ of May, 2013 _

Cal clicked the door shut, keenly aware she'd shut it too abruptly, and immediately battled tears. She hated being this way every time her birthday came to pass. She hated waking up to make other people look pretty and coming home to hear about how she didn't look pretty. She hated her uncle always knowing where she was, even he did nothing about that information.

But the Doctor and Clara had come for her. She didn't like Clara much, but she knew about the Doctor from when she was a little girl learning of ancient civilisations on other worlds. She saw inside his head so easily; a millennia of pain swimming between thoughts of the small woman beside him. Her skill had developed since she was younger, and she could read most men's minds now. But not the Elders, never the Elders. She was never meant to try – but of course she did. Her name was Calamity and all the children had hated her. Though those children were now her assistants, fans and clients, everyone knew her past and looked down on her for it, even if the condescension was kept inside their heads – but that was just the curse of being a female Hedonian.

She dried her waist-length black hair, got dressed, and didn't bother with the beauty maintenance her mentors had insisted she keep. She opened the door as bravely as she could, took a breath, and cleared her throat audibly. "Hello Doctor," she said brightly, and the two time travellers whipped around with nervous smiles. They'd been talking about her, she knew it without even setting foot into the Doctor's mind. She chose to ignore their behaviour however, and set about making them all tea.

"So!" said Cal cheerfully, "Why would old Rory send a Time Lord and his deathbed nurse to find me?"

The Doctor rubbed his hands over the tops of his thighs somewhat nervously. "I honestly don't know," he told her. "We were hoping you could tell us."

Clara looked at him with a tight smile, and turned to Cal. "But you already know, don't you?" Cal stated rather than asked. "This is for Clara's benefit," she added, nodding at the petite brunette, "rather than yours. Why don't you tell her why you're here?"

Clara felt quite frustrated at being the only human in the group, the only person with no substantial biological abilities aside from being very, very small. "What is she talking about, Doctor?" Clara demanded, arms crossed. He shook his head and sighed heavily. "He told me, you know. Rory, I mean. He told me what happened to her. Oh _Clara_," he breathed. "I guess I... I just hoped that we could take her with us without bringing it up - somehow."

* * *

Silence filled the lush dining room.

"I... I'm so sorry, Calamity," Clara said, voice wavering with unshed tears from the intense turn the conversation had taken. The tall Hedonian waved a hand.

"Call me Cal. And you really shouldn't be, you know. You had nothing to do with it."

Clara found that a part of her wished that she had had something to do with it. Wished she could've helped the woman before her out of it all somehow. "We're going to take you places, Cal," the Doctor began gently, putting one hand on hers, the other still gripping Clara's. His companion nodded furiously. "We'll take you to places you haven't been yet. People you haven't met. We can take you away from all... this," she said, waving a hand vaguely around to refer to Cal's life. They watched as the woman's mouth wavered and formed a slightly stiff grin. "I'm ready to see this TARDIS of yours now. Hopefully she likes _me_."


	4. Sort It Out

**_A/N: I think that perhaps in reality Clara and Cal wouldn't refrain from expressing their emotions in colourful language. And who said the Doctor can't have a favourite? You guys loved hearing Cal's story, and this chapter expands on her personality a bit more. Don't like the ending, actually this chapter altogether, but oh well.  
_**

* * *

_Maitland Residence, London, England, Earth, 26th of May 2013_

"Here we are!" cried the Doctor triumphantly as he threw open the TARDIS doors, revelling in the pedestrian view of the Maitland residence. "This is where Clara lives. She's been looking after the kids Angie and Artie since their mother so unfortunately passed away, bless her soul. Angie is fourteen and Artie is ten. Go figure," he explained to Cal, who quirked an eyebrow at his enthusiasm as he leapt onto the doormat and knocked five times exactly. She and Clara exchanged equally amused looks. "Is he always like this?" Cal asked bemusedly, and Clara stifled a smirk with the back of her hand.

"It's a specialty of his," she whispered while fighting a giggle.

"Oi!" the Doctor protested, turning slowly, "I can hear you, you know. I'll have you both know that enthusiasm is the key to staying alive this long." His mouth formed a wobbly smile with a hint of pride. "Oh, so we can be attacked by angry aliens and be allowed to live because we're _oh so enthusiastic_, is that right, Doctor?" Cal shot at him sarcastically, and she didn't need to look at him to see that his bottom lip was starting to stick out. Clara raised her eyebrow in a similar manner as Cal had before. There was only enough room for one sass queen on the TARDIS. And Clara wasn't just _any _sass queen, oh no. She was the I-saved-the-most-important-man-in-the-universe-a-b illion-or-so-times-despite-having-to-sacrifice-mys elf sass queen. Clara tensed visibly as she realised that not only was she glaring at Cal, but also that Cal was probably reading her mind too. The Hedonian only laughed at her as Artie grinned in the doorway and ushered them inside.

"Don't worry, I can only read male minds. Continue in your condescending train of thought about me with _no inhibition_."

"Then how did you know I was thinking that about you, hm?"

"Oh honey - I don't need to read your mind to know that. Keep your inner bitch on the _inside_, please. For the Doctor's sake at least."

Clara glared at her spitefully. "Listen here, you little f-"

The Doctor inhaled sharply and whipped around as they reached the entrance to the living room. "_Clara_!" he exclaimed, thoroughly scandalised. "Sorry about this, Cal."

Cal smiled at him sweetly as Clara grunted softly in frustration, and sat herself comfortably at the dining table. "Hi Artie, I'm Cal. I'm the Doctor's new companion! And I'm just becoming Clara's good, _good _friend," she spouted brightly, pumping Artie's hand vigorously. "Pleasure to be acquainted with you, Cal," he replied politely with a little bow. Clara couldn't suppress the eye roll and accompanying grin at his borderline austere manners in response to her obviously ironic enthusiasm. "Oh Clara," Cal began disapprovingly, "did you just _roll your eyes _at your ward? How unpleasant! Oh no, that will not do at all." The Doctor's eyes widened. "I – Clara, what's gotten into you today?" Clara's eyebrows knitted together in anger.

"I haven't done _anything_!" she protested, and the Doctor only exhaled in disapproval. "Artie, go to your room," he told the small boy with some authority. The curly-haired pre-teen nodded obediently and bounded up the staircase. "I'm going out to get some fish fingers and custard, and I want you two to sort whatever it is out before I get back," he declared in a bit of a huff, taking the keys from the table and locking them in.

"Well I don't know what your problem is," Clara began stiffly, "but the Doctor and I are only here to help you through your issues. I'm not sure if this is how you treat everyone, but can I just ask you once, Cal, once only – to give me some respect."

Cal laughed mercilessly at her. "Look at yourself, Clara. So in hopelessly in love with a man who can have a thousand times better. He's been all over time and space – and you know _what_? So have I. We've seen the best all the universes have to offer. And poor little you, telling me to give you _respect_. I didn't ask for his help, you know. Rory had the good intentions, bless his soul. I've been handling myself for years, so you can bug right off."

Clara could hardly breathe with the frustration coursing through her veins. She threw her hands up in defeat, and stared at the familiar ivory ceiling. "Why are you like this?" she muttered helplessly.

"We just wanted to _help _you Cal. We _care _about you. I was there, with Rory. He told _me_ to find you, never mind the Doctor-"

"_Don't you dare_ make this about Rory! I _loved_ him, but nooo. Miss _Pond _was always better, oh yes. Amy was always so much prettier, funnier, _thinner_..."

Cal's voice cracked and tears started flooding down her pale white skin. Clara instinctually reached out a hand, fighting tears herself, but Cal covered her face in her hands, cinching her elbows to her sides. "That's what all this is, isn't it?" asked Clara sadly. "You do all this as a defence mechanism so nobody can ever hurt you again. On purpose, anyway. You look down on me to feel better about yourself."

Cal could only tremble and cry more as Clara began to figure it out. Once she'd started, she couldn't stop.

"Wow, Cal. You find _stability_ in hating others. It's something you can always fall back on when your mind tells you you're someone else. Ordinarily I'd feel sorry for you, but that's just twisted. You show everyone that you're an extraordinarily successful woman with no baggage whatsoever, and you tell yourself that's because they didn't believe in you. But you know what I think, Cal? They knew you were entirely capable of everything you've done. You just needed to prove it to yourself."

Artie chose that moment to creep furtively downstairs. "Sorry, it's just – I heard crying. Pretty sensitive to those sounds now. Are you okay Cal?" he asked quietly, and the gorgeous Hedonian woman forced a smile. "Yeah, we just had a small disagreement. It's okay now, though. Don't worry," she told him as strongly as she could. He didn't buy it. "Would you like me to make you some tea, or coffee?" he enquired apologetically, looking nervously between her and his nanny. "Yes, thanks Artie. Then it'd be great if you could stay upstairs," Clara told him.

Just in time, the door clicked open to reveal the Doctor with an arm full of grocery bags and a smile on his face. "Hello Clara! Hello Cal! Are we all best buddies now? Great," he gushed, and set the bags on the counter. There were four bags full of fish fingers and custard. He turned slowly when he detected their silence.

"Oh... I'm not interrupting anything am I? Dear me, I'll be out of the way in a tick."

He threw the boxes and cartons into the fridge and ran upstairs as both women rolled their eyes.

"I hate being this way, Clara," Cal told her honestly. She'd stopped crying. "It's okay, hun," Clara replied gently. "I understand now." The Impossible Girl tentatively reached our her hand and placed it on Cal's slim, milky white hands.

"You're a good person, Clara."

"Far from it."

"You've taken so much crap from me!"

"Pssht, trust me when I say I'm used to it."

They both smiled at each other.


	5. She's Not Okay

**_A/N: Cal is messed up. Holy fairy dust. I introduce first person narration in this chapter, it's good to be inside their heads at this point. If you remember from Into His Hearts, GSP means General Storytelling Perspective. Also in MPD/DID terms, 'alter' refers to a separate personality aside from the individual's core/main personality._**

* * *

"No Doctor, you've got to listen to me, she's _not _okay-"

"Clara, I thought you'd sorted everything out that day."

"We did, but-"

"But _what_, Clara?

"Nothing. Don't worry."

"Good. I don't want to hear of any more disagreements between _any _of us. I just want us to be happy again."

Clara huffed in indignation. She'd only tried to tell him to be careful. Cal had admitted to having a large infatuation with Time Lords, Hedonians having similar government and laws. Just like Clara to worry about him and not the other way around. She wasn't sure why it worried her that Cal had taken an interest to the Doctor. It felt an awful lot like jealousy.

The TARDIS groaned at the disagreement. She didn't like disagreements. Too often they ended in a fight.

Cal walked in and sighed dramatically, setting her cup of Earl Grey down on the console. Clara twinged internally at the lack of protest from the Doctor. She would have taken at least three lectures from the Doctor about how precious the machinery was and how could she risk damage and she should know the health and safety regulations within the TARDIS.

She felt like she was watching someone else be the favoured one. And it killed her, because Cal was everything she'd wanted to be.

Clara watched as the Doctor smiled at Cal and engaged her in small talk about Hedonia and the Aima Galaxy, the education process, etc. His lips seemed to move in slow motion, so perfect, so honest, so pronounced; Cal's words were silver with deceit and Machiavellian technique. Clara saw how Cal looked at him. It was the same look of admiration, of curiosity, feeling comforted. She recognised it from her own eyes for the Doctor. It was a look of love.

But the woman broke her look, and slumped against the console, head in her hands. Her face contorted in strain, like she was fighting an imaginary creature in her mind – which wasn't too far off what was happening. The Doctor leapt into action, scanning her cautiously with his sonic. His usually light expression darkened considerably as he interpreted the readings. "Get back, Clara," he warned in a low voice, but she stood there, enraptured by Cal's battle with her own mind. "Get _back_! Now!" he yelled with real worry, and pulled her arm roughly to the other side of the console.

Cal's head snapped up abruptly, and she immediately started to cry. "Daddy?" she called absently to the Doctor.

"You're back. You're back. You've come back for me."

Clara's heart broke when she realised what had occurred.

"Where's Mummy? Where are we, Daddy? I'm scared..."

A simple switch between Cal's alters had changed the entire dynamic and atmosphere of the TARDIS, who made a sound like a squeal and dimmed the light noticeably.

The Doctor's POV

I can feel my TARDIS protesting. A thousand years of time and space, and we've encountered many creatures with all sorts of mental variations and disorders, but not this one. This is Dissociative Identity Disorder, or Multiple Personality Disorder in older terms. She can't remember who we are, who her parents were, what they looked like, or where she is. At the moment, Cal truly believes that Clara is her mother and I am her father, who, from what I can see, left her family a long time ago. So for the first time, I don't have a plan and am not attempting to make one. She's going to be unpredictable; unpleasant at times. I haven't learned how to support people like her. I wonder if I can. I wonder why Rory would think I could help her at all, I'm an old man armed with a screwdriver and overconfidence. I don't like feeling that I can't help her. That's all I do, really. Help, fix, and mend. This time, I don't know if I can.

Calamity's POV

I'm so happy Daddy came back. I knew he would. I wish he didn't take so long though, I've been very sad without him. So has Mummy. She doesn't sleep well anymore and her eyes are all dark. Sometimes I think she needs to see a doctor, but she doesn't like it when I tell her that. Mummy and Daddy look a bit different now, but that could just be me.

Sometimes I think there's something wrong with my mind. Like there are other people in here, fighting for attention. I don't know if that's supposed to happen, but none of my friends at school say that happens.

But it's been a really long time since I was at school. That's really weird. I'd remember growing up and becoming all adult-y. I'd remember paying taxes and kissing boys and doing my grown-up job.

Ah, I'm only seven. I have nothing to worry about.

Clara's POV

I learned about MPD/DID in university. The compulsory psychology course was very informative. Didn't help my soufflés, but it was good to know. From what I can tell, she's got a child alter. About seven, eight, or nine, probably. Treatment is near impossible to guarantee the effectiveness of, so it's best to make sure all the alters trust you. But she doesn't trust me, or at least I don't think so. Regular Cal, that is. Maybe they have names, I don't know.

This version, this side of Cal thinks I'm her _mother_! She's never hear the end of this. But still; it could prove to be dangerous if we're off fighting an alien assassin and she wants a new crayon. There's something so satisfying about seeing such a negative person become vulnerable themselves. That's probably an evil thought right there, but I can't help it. She thinks she's a kid.

Before, I never knew what it was like to not know exactly who I am. But now, I understand perfectly. I understood immediately. Having echoes all across time and space is kind of like having alters I suppose.

GSP

The TARDIS groaned and began to shake; she was taking them somewhere. Now they just had to wait.


	6. Very Interesting Indeed

**_A/N: Starting to show Clara's jealous nature. It's not all teasing and flirting, I'm afraid. Short chapter for once in this fic._**

* * *

Clara was ' "about one hundred and ten percent done" ' with her day, so she went off to bed even though the TARDIS was travelling at an unusually slow pace to somewhere new – effectively ignoring the golden promise of adventure she once found so alluring.

Having switched back to her core alter, Cal plucked a cola lollipop from a cupboard in the TARDIS kitchen and slung a casual arm around the Doctor's shoulder. " 'Sup with her?" she asked, pretending not to notice how much he had stiffened at her touch. "I think it's somebody's time of the month, yo."

No response.

She swiftly turned and entered the TARDIS bathroom, where the Doctor could hear her rummaging around through the large assortment of extra shampoo, soap and – _crash_! "Cal!" he cried in concern, only to find her blushing furiously while sweeping up the (oddly fragrant?) glass shards covering the tiles. "Sorry, I was looking for something, and I knocked over this bottle of..."

She stopped to take a whiff, raised an eyebrow in surprise, and found the logo on a large piece of glass. "Ew. One Direction perfume from like... 2013. Oh man, good riddance in that case." The Doctor feigned a look of insult. "I happen to think them to be the best British band _ever_."

Cal slammed him against the door. "You _what_?" she cried, and he threw his hands in the air in surrender. "I was joking! I was joking, I promise. Everyone knows they're overrated," he gushed in a high-pitched voice. She let go of his tweed lapels and grinned. "Off you pop, then," she ordered, and shut the door behind him.

She emerged with a cheeky grin about two hours later, and tapped the working Doctor on the tweed-covered shoulder.

"What-"

His breath caught. "What on Earth have you done to your hair? It's all... bright and... kind of majestic actually. It suits you." Her smile widened, and she casually flicked a floral-scented curl over her shoulder. She'd ombré dyed it hot pink at the top, fading through purple into a deep blue colour. It was _very_ Cal.

He smiled at her sideways and made to punch in new coordinates when she grabbed his hand.

"Oh, I don't think so. Feel like exploring?"

He couldn't bring himself to reply, but she was determined to have her fun. "Or are you _scared_?" she teased, and it worked like a charm. "I am not _scared_ of anything!" he squeaked, making his way to the doors. "I can go and run around _any_ planet, thank you!"

She grinned, but the smile faded as he flung open the doors to reveal – a regular, dirty cobblestone street. The Hedonian looked at him questioningly, but he didn't see her as he crossed through the doors onto the street, where he licked a finger and stuck it up into the air. "Ah, thought so," he muttered to himself. "We're in the 90's!"

Cal smirked. "Joy," she replied sarcastically, "I just can't _wait_ to bust out my MC Hammer pants!" She made to turn back to the TARDIS when the Doctor grabbed her by the shoulders and whispered "Not just _any_ 90's year. 1891, Tragir, Croatia. I think it's time we visited someone very interesting indeed."

Her eyes widened. He smiled knowingly at her.

"It's been a while since I've visited Vincent."

Clara entered the console room after a long yawn, only to see that it was empty. The TARDIS made a sound a bit like a snigger. "Oh come _on_," she moaned to the console, which flashed a few lights at her in humour. The Doctor and Cal had left without her.


	7. Keep This One

**_A/N: Vincent :') Here we flash between the Doctor and Cal, and Clara and the TARDIS. Also Cal is not a Time Lady, she's just been here and there because Hedonians are really very advanced, especially in relative comparison to humans._**

* * *

_Tragir, Croatia, Earth, 1891_

The Doctor smiled as Cal looped her arm through his and proceeded to drag him to a number of market stalls, cafes and old houses with child-like delight. As a Hedonian, she'd been around, but not to Croatia. And she certainly hadn't visited one of the universe's most famous artists before.

* * *

_Clara slumped at the console, drumming her nails along the spotlessly clean panels of joysticks, buttons and levers in boredom. This was just about the last straw. She couldn't handle how perfect Cal was. Her shining red/purple/blue hair, her deep TARDIS blue eyes – all that beauty only served to crumble Clara's insides like one of her soufflés._

* * *

"None of that, Cal," the Doctor reprimanded, dragging her over to a familiarly desolated cul-de-sac. He shushed her as she made to question him, taking her hand as he whispered to her, "It's been half a year since he's seen me." She smiled up at him. "How long has it been for you?" she asked. He lowered his gaze to the floor. "I couldn't say. Maybe eleven years," he murmured in reply, and they continued to cross the cobblestone path to knock on the flimsy handmade door.

* * *

_"What do you say, old girl?" Clara asked the TARDIS. "Who do _you_ like better?"_

_ Idris only scoffed. "That's not what it's about, human," the TARDIS replied condescendingly. "He wants both of you. Together. Getting along. Like civil people. And that's exactly what he will _get_, because he's my thief."_

* * *

The door swung open to reveal a half-crying, half-sleepy Vincent who was well and truly one bottle and a pill too far in. "Doctor?" he whispered reverently, and clumsily pulled him into a crushing bear hug. "Oh, you've got a new one, eh? Smooth." Vincent's eyes widened at the sight of Cal. "Your hair," he whispered, "it's like that of a _unicorn_. Are you a unicorn?"

Cal barely managed to stifle a giggle fit. He was certainly not what she had learned about in Earth school.

* * *

_Clara frowned at the monitor, which displayed the Doctor and Cal arm-in-arm at the doorstep of – no... Vincent Van Gogh? She let out a sigh of frustration, and clenched her fist so as to avoid punching the panel. This had to end. Her... whatever it was. Call it jealousy if you like. But mostly she felt victimised. Like Calamity was doing this on purpose. And Clara would __**not **__be pushed aside. Not this time._

* * *

Cal and the Doctor stepped quite gingerly across the dusty floorboards that the Time Lord had installed as a present the last time he'd visited. Vincent managed to stumble his way to the kitchen when the Doctor waved him away. "I'll do tea," he said quickly, guiding Vincent back to his chair at the table. Cal raised an eyebrow as the ginger man took her hand suddenly across the old mark-ridden, paint-flecked mahogany. "I suppose you know who I am. So who are you?" he asked ever so softly. "I'm Calamity Aima. From Hedonia, but you probably don't know where that is."

He chuckled somewhat nervously. "Sure I do. That's in... Greece, right? Beautiful name. Catastrophe. Disaster. Havoc. You're magical, you know that? But also so sad, so very, _very_ sad. Somebody's hurt you. Who? Who did this to you-"

Cal began to shake violently as she quietly swallowed a sob, and tears spilled from her eyes. It must've been more obvious than she thought. Or maybe the man in front of her really was very special.

Perhaps both.

* * *

_"But something needs to be done, Idris," said Clara, "I can't continue living like this, crawling behind her in __**her**__ shadow, and despising-"_

_"You __**will **__live this way, Clara. Do you really think I _like _being shoved aside, year after year, companion after companion so the Doctor can save your human behinds? NO. I hold the very _concept_ in cavalier. But, however, you definitely lack the tolerance which I am forced to wield so... very... often. So I say – give him a choice. You or Calamity." Clara bit her lip. Idris was right. Her or the other girl. Make him choose. And she also got the satisfaction of being picked over a gorgeous lady like Cal; that is, if he __**did **__pick her._

* * *

An hour and ten cups of tea later, Vincent was crying with Cal and the Doctor gripping both of their hands in awkward support. "Now I am grateful for living in this time," Vincent said to Cal, clapping her hand with emphasis. The Doctor crossed his arms uncomfortably, and began to fidget aimlessly with his sonic. Cal had been sick on the day they studied the nature of Van Gogh's death in art school – knowing that she didn't know made him feel queasy. "It's such a privilege to meet finally meet someone who... understands," said Vincent of their rare mental disorders. "You know," he began, lowering his voice to a whisper, "I was considering... ending it all. Kicking my own bucket, so to speak. Like you. How do you do it, Cal?" She smiled, and it brought a whole new light to her heart-shaped face that was so similar to Clara's. "I don't," she whispered in reply. The artist was befuddled by this, and urged her to continue with a slight nudge. "I just wait the days out, distracting myself until it comes back to consume me again. And the vicious cycle continues. Vincent, you need to keep going. Keep fighting. Keep making art. You remember what the art man said. You're the greatest man who ever lived. So live, Vincent. Never forget to live."

"Now look after yourself, eh, Vincent?" the Doctor called out to him from the doorway of the TARDIS. The man nodded happily and waved, but not before pressing a meaningful kiss to Cal's hand. "Keep this one," he called back in reply.

* * *

_Clara retreated to her room and slammed the door in frustration, not hearing the Doctor and Cal enter the console room._

* * *

"So... where are we going now?" asked Cal. The Doctor grinned. "The Musée d'Orsay, Paris, 2013. That's current Earth time. I want to see if anything's happened," he explained with, truly, no lack of his characteristic hand waving and finger wiggling. They landed smoothly and rushed up the clean stone steps, through the doors, and up three flights of stairs to the Van Gogh exhibit. Sure enough, to both of their delight; there stood a row of at least fifty new paintings. They grinned at each other and ran over to the information stand. It was official – he had died of age at least thirty years after he would've committed suicide. It had worked. Cal had succeeded where Amy failed. In her delight of having affected someone, she missed the sad shadow of memory that passed across the Doctor's face for the slightest portion of a second.

"Finally, they're back," Clara complained to the TARDIS, having entered the console room. "I've been waiting for you two," she said to the pair of them. "I'd ask you something personally, but I think it's best if Idris does the talking."

Both time travellers raised their eyebrows at the console.

The TARDIS cleared her throat. "Well, quite simply Doctor, you find yourself in yet another situation where you are required to make a decision that will change the course of someone's life. Wipe the memories of one, and keep the other. To love, or to leave? Which one do you choose?"

The Doctor staggered back into the railing. "N-n... no..." he stammered. "I _won't_!" he spat at his TARDIS. His _thief_. "Who says I have to choose?" he shouted at her in childish rage. "We're all getting along perfectly well anyway, where did this even come from?" Clara didn't bother suppressing an eye-roll. "You two are," she corrected sharply. His old-man-frown creased his 25-year-old skin.

"What are you talking about, Clara?"

She pursed her lips as Cal batted her eyelashes in false confusion. "Yeah! We were just off _helping Vincent Van Gogh through his quarter-life crisis_," the Hedonian added with false innocence, but the Doctor missed her emphasis. Clara scowled at her. "I thought you two were making friends?" he asked with a hint of sadness. A new note had entered his voice – it sounded a bit like a hope lost.

"Oh Doctor, you've been so blind," a familiarly confident voice purred from behind the trio. "Oops! Perhaps I've said too much already. You'll just have to make _them_ tell you. But I'll hush for now, dear."

He didn't turn around as the two women beside him did. He already knew who it was. "Replaced me, have you? What a shame. But I suppose I can't tell you how I'm here, either. Spoilers, sweetie."


	8. She's A Switchblade

**_A/N: Well guessed, everyone. It's River :D huehue no prizes tho. Who will the Doctor choose? I'm not even sure yet._**

* * *

****"Ignore her, guys. She's just a _projection_," he spat with emphasis, spinning slowly to face her with dark eyes. River covered her mouth in mock offense. "But am I _really_, Doctor? Why can they see me?"

He looked away from her ice-blue gaze, trying to stave off the thoughts that went along with that statement.

_"Why do you think they can see me_, Doctor? I've waited so long to return to you. Have you been waiting for me?"

He struggled internally. _Of all times for her to return... _

Clara and Cal had their eyebrows raised in an identical questioning manner. "Choose, Doctor. River will help you decide. She's not a projection – I called her out of her time stream for this," the TARDIS informed them.

"It's important you choose well. Your time is running short, Thief."

"I..." the Doctor began, but he couldn't find it within him to continue.

Clara could've sworn that she saw Cal smile. The Doctor visibly tensed, and finally spoke.

"It should've been simple. It's always been you and me, across time and space. I only learned how much you meant to me after Trenzalore."

Cal began to frown, and tilted her head in confusion. She'd thought she was special...

"Cal, you beautiful, _beautiful_ thing. You'll always be the girl who changed art history forever."

Her glowing smile overtook her mad expression like lightning.

"But I don't know if you're built for the TARDIS," he continued, and her smile faded to be overtaken by rage again. "Hurry up, Doctor," River reminded him.

"Make a choice! The one who cries..." she followed, nodding towards a glowering Cal, "or the one who _dies_."

"Clara, get behind me," he said as calmly as possible. Cal was halfway into a panic attack, and Clara was feeling like she was about to be betrayed massively and set aside like a book with a slow-developing plot. It made sense to him now. It was like his decision with the Moment all those years ago. There was only a preference, no solid answer. River winked at him across the console, looking like all she needed was popcorn.

"I... should've... known..." Cal choked softly. "All this time. I've just been... _there_. I thought – never mind."

The Doctor stepped forward to take her hand, but she swatted it away. "_NO!_" she screamed at him, gripping her now tear-stained silk shirt in distress. "I'm _not_ going to let you in again! Not ever!"

Clara sighed. Things were never going to be easy with an MPD patient. "Cal, dear. If you could calm down, then we can all-"

"Shut _up_ Clara! You're just as bad as him! Pretending to like me, acting like you were _jealous_ of me, but none of it's true is it? You were all pretending just to..."

She paused to wheeze pitifully before continuing.

"So I could feel _okay_."

She was crying now, but not the kid-tantrum sort of crying. The silent, shaking sort where you don't know how you'll ever stop. Cal noticed them watching her with sympathetic eyes, abruptly stood up and ran out of the console room.

The Doctor shook his head sadly. "One adventure," he whispered, "one. That's all it took for her to attach herself to us – to life in the TARDIS." Clara gave him a puzzled look.

"Hedonians are like cats," he explained with a knowing chuckle. "They find whatever suits their needs and desires, and they never let go. They also seem to expect their desires to be... somewhat... reciprocated."

Clara remained blank.

"As in... you know, ugh. Clara, you _know_ what I mean..."

She caught on, but she wanted to hear him say it.

"I'm so sorry Clara, I didn't realise she was a lesbian, they aren't usually-"

Clara burst out laughing, and had to grip the console to remain upright. "Ah..." she said, using a finger to catch a stray tear of laughter. "Wow, Doctor. _Real_ observant," she mused. It was his turn to be confused. "It's you she wants, Doctor. Or _wanted_. I don't think she's used to not getting what she wants."

The sight of the realisation dawning upon the Doctor's face like a sunrise was enough to send her back into a fit of giggles.

The sound of smashing glass broke through their temporary reverie. Cal had switched.


	9. On A Cloud In The Sky

**_A/N: And here we have a very angsty and dramatic chapter. Enjoy :) This was written to Bring Me The Horizon's 'Hospital For Souls'. Can be read in conjunction with 'I'll Ask You Once More' from _****_A Thousand Candles_****_ series 2. That chapter is an alternate ending of sorts, where Clara wants to leave the TARDIS and actually asks him._**

* * *

"Get her _out_, Doctor! GET HER OUT OF HERE!" Clara screamed hysterically, clutching to the lapels of his comforting brown tweed jacket. "I... I don't know, Clara, I can't..." he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes you can, just get rid of her-"

"Clara, she's a person too-"

"She's a _bloody_ alien!"

"And WHAT DOES THAT MAKE ME, CLARA?"

She let go of him like his jacket had seared her hands. Clara had overstepped his line between tolerance and hate. They heard Cal scream and upturn the heavy wooden desk in her room, to which the TARDIS whined in protest, and ran to her in abandon of their argument.

When they found her, she was quivering in a fetal position on the cold tiles of the attached bathroom, crying and whimpering painstakingly, and... wrists as well as her neck slashed haphazardly, dark blood already congealing in ugly chunks on the now staining tiles. She wailed even louder as the Doctor knelt to cradle her in his arms, tears rolling freely down his usually proud cheekbones. He pressed a shaky kiss to her forehead as she cried into him, and he whispered sweet nothings in Gallifreyan to her. She wouldn't understand what he was saying, but she didn't have to. "Don't do this to yourself, Cal," he told her firmly, pressing his forehead into hers and placing another kiss there. "We love you. _I_ love you," he continued, "but we have to let you go. Time travel isn't good for people like you."

She nodded slowly in acknowledgement and pulled him into a grateful hug.

Calamity then turned to Clara in the doorway and smiled warmly at her. Clara managed to smile back as the bleeding woman struggled to her feet and made her way over.

The Doctor smiled at them as they hugged it out, laughing a little in their goodbye.

Cal kept smiling even as she pulled away from Clara, who was bleeding heavily from a wound in her back that ran through her abdomen. The Doctor watched, stock-still, as his Impossible Girl fell helplessly to the floor. He was completely paralysed as Cal wiped the blood-smothered shard of glass carelessly onto her deep blue dress, staining it purple near the hem. She crossed the corridor to the console room casually as the Doctor stood there, unable to process Clara's state even in his Time Lord brain, and began to manipulate the controls easily. He started as the TARDIS began to dematerialise into the time vortex under Cal's hand, and ran to the console room, limbs flailing in panic. "No, Cal, no! What have you done?" he cried, running both hands through his usually impeccably styled hair. She only turned to smile at him in response. He ran back to Clara in the bathroom, picked her up and told the TARDIS to change the bathroom into the medical bay. Within a minute she was lying on her side in recovery position, crying in pain, eyes glazed with the drugs coursing through her veins. The TARDIS groaned uneasily. _I don't think I can save her, Doctor. It's a fatal wound, and you left the cell-repair technology with Amelia Williams._ He shook his head stubbornly.

"Do something, Idris. Call Vastra. Call Jenny. Call Strax, for God's sake!"

His machine made a sound of surprise at the use of her old name, but stood her ground.

_It's time_, she whispered to him. _Every living thing finds its end. Even me. Even __**you**__. Bringing her back will do nothing for either of you. She really should have told you, you know. She wanted to leave the TARDIS, forget you and have as close to a normal human life as possible. It was going to be hard, but she wanted to. She wanted to leave, but could never bring herself to leave you. And then you picked up Cal! Do you know what that did to her? The hours you spent with a Hedonian that you never spent with her? Don't think I don't know the things you've whispered to her. You've done the same to too many now. And you wonder why they all turn out the way they do. So __**no**__, Doctor. I will not save her this time. Not when she's already saved herself for you. She's in the archives now, actually. But she'll be back for you soon enough. She always comes back for you._

He held her for hours even after her body had gone long cold.

The Doctor remained kneeling on the floor, now transported to the console room, even after the TARDIS had taken her from him.

He left her body at her local hospital and wept on the floor of the waiting room, not caring what anyone thought of him – just soaking in his grief. He'd never told her how much he loved and admired her. And now she was gone.

_She'll be back soon_, he tried to tell himself, but he wasn't so sure. Clara would only be there if he needed saving. And he didn't need saving. _Not yet_.

His sadness quickly turned into anger. Cal's name made him quiver just at the thought. So when he saw her waiting for him at the front of the console, he grabbed her wrist, punched in the numbers for Victorian London and threw her out heartlessly into the cold. The Doctor could not stand the sight of her weeping through the snowflakes that landed on her face.

And he returned to his cloud in the sky.


	10. She Strikes Nerves, Not Poses

**_A/N: Who misses the Paternoster Trio? ME. _**

_Two very grouchy months later, Victorian London_

The Doctor scowled grumpily as he stomped up the porch of Vastra, Jenny and Strax's residence. Why had they even invited him in the first place? Because some _girl_ had passed the one word test. Again. She was also apparently very pretty _and_ witty. Also again. _There really was no shortage of unintentional mockery in this time period_, he thought to himself.

He flung open the door and gave his coat to Strax without a word. The former commander stood there, partially frustrated but also a little sad for the Doctor. _The boy Clara was a very sufficient comrade_, he lamented.

The Time Lord stormed into Vastra's chamber, his expression like thunder, and growled, "Which girl have you brought me this time?" Immediately afterward he cursed himself for the connotations that could've held, but kept his demeanor stony. Jenny smiled despite him.

"Well Doctor, she's quite a lovely lady. We found her just outside the gate, knocking like you wouldn't _believe_. She said she knew ya, see, and-"

"Cut to the chase, Jenny. Give me a name."

She smiled again, almost fearfully.

"Her... her name's Calamity, sir. Ain't that an interesting one? What do ya think, Doctor?"

He choked on his own breath at the sight of her flawless, pale face turning to face him. Cal's red-purple-blue ombré curls spilled down both sides of the armchair, and it struck him again how beautiful she was. He shook her image out of his mind. _She's a horrible psycho woman_, he reminded himself. _Don't think about her like that. Don't you dare. She killed Clara, for Pete's sake_. He cringed as he realised what he had done there. The Doctor always hated those clichés. He also hated parallel universes.

Cal smiled warmly, like nothing had ever happened between them. "Good to see you too, Doctor," she purred with a little smile. His right eyebrow twitched slightly as a war commenced within his brain.

_Leave her. Leave right now and never come back._

_Take her with you! You can give her a second chance-_

_She killed Clara; kill her too. You're perfectly capable of it._

_How could you even think such things? I mean 'I'. What?_

_Just give her a second chance. Be the Doctor again._

_I left that name behind with Clara's body._

_Don't be such a grump! You know that's what she would have wanted. What she wants, silly madman._

_How would you know anything? I MEAN 'I'; grammar is difficult when you're at war with yourself... I mean myself. For Pete's sake, UGH._

He cringed again at the mention of a Pete, but took Cal's hand on impulse and led her aside.

"Alright you strange little girl, listen! Listen to me. My name is the Doctor, and that's all the name you need to know. And I am going to give you a second chance. The same chance my Clara-"

He gagged on her name, but stiffened up enough to continue.

"-the same chance my Clara gave me. Stuff this up again and I _will_ make sure you never have a future to even travel to. So don't change the future. Don't. So if you care so much about me, you're going to help, not hinder. Understood?"

She nodded, blue eyes wide and hair bouncing with each nod. The Doctor allowed himself to smile at her complex beauty. There really weren't people like her at all.

So once again he found himself eyeing her closely as she flicked levers easily with surprisingly muscled arms, stabbing a couple of buttons and scrutinising monitors. _Such an intelligent girl, by all means..._ He physically slapped himself. _She's a killer. Leave it there._ Cal's eyes flicked up in shock, but he just smiled tightly and waved it away. "Falling asleep," he lied in a mumble. She smiled back and launched them into the vortex.

"I hope you like Paris, Chin Boy, 'cause I sure d-"

The Doctor's arm slammed her hard into the now icy iron railing. She gasped for breath as he raised an arm as if to hit her and nearly followed through, but he thought better of it and let her slump to the floor. "Only Clara can call me that," he muttered sternly, and she wasn't sure whether he was talking to her or himself.

He brought the TARDIS to a halt in the middle of the time vortex and stormed to his bedroom. A wave of sadness hit her. She really hadn't meant to strike that nerve. _Better go apologise_, she told herself grimly. The Doctor noted her presence before she even opened the door. "Go away!" he shouted, voice slightly muffled by a crimson velvet cushion. She shrank from the doorknob in disappointment. That's when she saw the scarred wounds on her arms, and stifled the last half of a baffled cry. Cal froze to the spot as she realised she couldn't remember where they came from.

She couldn't remember where she was.


	11. About Cal (will delete)

First of all, thank you for your questions. This will help clear it up for others as well.

Calamity has Dissociative Identity Disorder, commonly known as Multiple Personality Disorder. The Dissociative part refers to when the frontal lobe of her brain shuts down (happens when under copious amounts of stress, such as trauma or fighting the switching between alters or personalities) effectively disabling any ability to remember the events that occurred between the switch and the switch back. I've written that she's already tried the medications, the cognitive therapy and the self-control exercises across the span of her life so far. Cal has little-to-no control over her switches as she has a rather severe form of the disorder as a result of her trying to create herself another life when she was young. That 'alter ego' became her reality in the fractured state of her mind, and lo behold, as she already had a chemical imbalance, she formed a disorder. This is a common way for people, especially those who have been under trauma or relentless stress to form such a disorder.

And I'd like to add that aside from her disorder and her past, she really is a fairly simple, lovable character. Her 'core alter', or main personality, is just a beautiful, well-educated make up artist/former nurse who knows she's beautiful and flaunts that in company. She chooses not to bring up her past; she's recovered from that. I don't know how deep your understanding of the disorder goes, but it's a consistent mental war between different versions of yourselves fighting for attention and dominion. It's sort of intense and very tiring. It's quite the something to see someone who has fought themselves their whole lives, and the Doctor appreciates her. The phrase 'complex beauty' was used to describe not her, but the storm beneath her skin, as a metaphor. I left it up to readers to decipher that however they wanted. And, as with most cases of MPD/DID in which the person self-harms, only one of her alters has the capacity to hurt themselves. It wasn't a common occurrence after she graduated Earth uni with the Ponds, but when you think about it - she would have been clean for that long, only to find out that she'd done it again. She would have been so proud of herself for staving it all off. And it wasn't even really her fault. Her temporary insanity is only the by-product of her disorder, and with such an extreme disorder, it defines everything she is. Just another girl with a hard life who didn't deserve it.

People have also drawn parallels between her and Clara; while I must say they are similar in their sass, Cal was created to be a foil to all Clara's future plans. That's why I had them share Clara's most loved aspect of character, to ruin any individuality she used to have and therefore confidence in that individuality.

I hope you understand my intentions for Cal a little better now :)


End file.
